Mad World
by Lehrain
Summary: After Bilbo accidentally met up with Gollum, he found the One Ring and escaped the hungry creature's clutches with it. But he left behind sadness and hollowness. Smeagol was left to muse about his own "mad world".


**Disclaimer: No, sadly I do not own the characters or the epic fantasy world. It all belongs rightfully to the creators. **

**A/N: So, here's a little something for you guys that I hope you'll enjoy. It's not as lighthearted as my other Smeagol story, but that's just because it shows the other side to this complicated character. Also, this fic was inspired by Ijameswalters on Youtube who did a Smeagol parody of "Mad World". Anyway, here's my one-shot and please review! :)**

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><p>Mad World<p>

"_All around me are familiar faces,_

_Worn out places, worn out faces._

_Bright and early for their daily races,_

_Going nowhere, going nowhere."_

Across the widening gaps of the mountain tops, the whistling breezes rustle the snowcapped tips and the illusion of sound lingers. The mountains are lonely; vast and empty. Not a word has been uttered between the peaks for ages. This is the trickery of the mountains, for deep beneath the rocky crevices lies a cave which emits the sorrowful wails of loss. A plea of desperation has been heard by the wind, but it long ago turned a cold shoulder away. And the owner of the pain, this so-called 'creature', has been abandoned.

And not just by his surroundings…

The creature Gollum resided in these rocky chambers. It haunts itself, a victim of his own mind. Hours and hours, constant and wasted, staring with a transfixed gaze at the tiny piece of gold rested carefully on his palm.

"No!"

His gaze is broken, possessive eyes leering through the darkness of his personal wasteland. Searching. Suspicious. No one could take it from him. Not his _precious_.

But there are no other sounds to be heard apart from his own paranoia.

Still half-convinced that he isn't alone, the creature returns his gaze fondly back to his outstretched hand. A smile spreads. The precious. _His_ precious.

"_Happy Birthday!"_

That day was the day that changed it all. One moment, one glance, and Smeagol had been captivated—entranced by that shiny piece of gold. That one pretty little ring. It changed everything, especially the mind of the hobbit whose joyful eyes fell upon it. Smeagol had been taken and was replaced by Gollum, the creature residing in silence within him.

"Deagol…"

Yes, his name. The name of Smeagol's first victim. On that day, that day of jubilant celebration, his fragile neck had been grasped between Smeagol's own two hands…_murderer._

All for the precious. It was all for…the _precious_.

The smile falls then as his eyes drop longingly. The illusion had ended.

It was gone. He was…alone.

"Dumb Bagginses. Took what's ours. OURS! Thief!" the creature wailed, thrashing his arms around his shrunken form, a rage blinded by the stinging tears forming in the corners of his woeful eyes.

Five hundred years was a long time to have lived in a cave, with only his own mind for company and the poisonous whispers of an all-encompassing ring. The creature Gollum sought the presence of more—loneliness was slowly eating away at the shattered remains of his heart. A heart that was cruelly traumatized by the forced abandonment of those closest to him. Smeagol's family, one of the river folk, were an unpleasant memory scattered amongst the rest. It was debatable within his own mind which was the worse memory: the rejection of love and even acceptance, or the cold-blooded act he had placed upon his favorite cousin.

When the Baggins came, Smeagol's joy was comparable to the same happiness that washed over him as a young hobbit in the summertime. The sun's ecstatic rays shining brightly upon the boy's beaming face. The disfigured remains of that happy boy now only sought comfort within the understanding darkness, his only truly trusted companion. His mind was deceived and _deceiving_, murmuring bitter reminders of his sins, never allowing the broken creature to escape the past's hauntings. An eternal torment, a torturous cycle…there was no escape.

And he didn't seek one...

Until the small hobbit stumbled into his dwelling. Gollum wanted to eat him immediately, but there was a part of him, some miniscule fraction of his remaining humanity, that recognized the familiarity of a hobbit. A hobbit that he wasn't so different from before. _Before._

So, he played with him, enjoying the simple pleasantries of the game. He ignored the eager rumblings of his underfed stomach and the craving of more sustenance than any fish could give him. He wanted to eat the Baggins, but he also didn't want to be alone. Gollum was a survivor, finding all the secret traps scattered beneath the mountains for quick escapes, and food was the number one necessity for survival. But a tiny, often overshadowed voice in the back of his mind told him he wouldn't survive much longer with his unending loneliness. Food was necessary, but so was companionship.

Eventually, the hungry urges won the battle. Smeagol had made the decision to eat him, and Gollum took over from there. Gollum was always the one he let do the dirty work. Smeagol's hands had felt enough violence. He was too afraid to approach it, but Gollum would only scoff and confidently take over, no regrets present upon his countenance. Smeagol resented that part of himself. He was jealous that Gollum could exude the confidence and willpower he lacked. They were both in the mind of one body, but they couldn't be any more different. Smeagol could only relate to his other half when he stared into the glassy lake's ripples and conversed with his reflection. And then the void of emptiness was filled.

Only one other thing could fill that void. The long hours, days, he spent caressing the precious metal between his fingers. It was the closest connection to his soul. The ring had taken it from him the second he sought it for himself, the moment the life left the vibrant eyes of Deagol. It was a small shred of his humanity, a link to the hobbit he once was. To good Smeagol. The ring brought that peace to him, but there was also jealousy and anger. For that one semblance of a good feeling, Smeagol traded all of himself and paid for it with all the cruelty the world could throw at him.

Invisibility…another blessing from the precious. It allowed him to stay concealed, safe from the horrors of the outside world. That's what he told himself. What Gollum and Smeagol agreed on. As long as they stayed in their dark and dismal sanctuary, with the precious, they would be happy. Safety _was_ happiness and the precious ring allowed that. But, invisibility, Smeagol always thought, created the distance. A long, long, winding gap between himself and others, all people: man, elf, goblin…hobbit.

He carried a secret longing to walk amongst them once again, freely. Not as an invisible specter, but as one of their own. He never wanted to be invisible. Raising his hand in a wave of greeting would not be seen. Instead, the eyes would look right through him…and Smeagol would still be alone.

But then…his soul was taken away from him. Stolen…again. That hobbit, who had tossed riddles back and forth with him, humoring his desire for a playful game, had taken advantage of his loneliness. It made Smeagol show mercy, if only for a moment, but apparently that was all the thief needed to tear away that last piece. The final link to his humanity.

What did humanity matter anyway? It never helped him. There was never any kindness shown, the supposed shining trait of all things humane. Guilt was a feeling for humanity, along with pesky remorse, sabotaging mercy, and heartless love. He had love, love for the precious and for himself. Those were the only entities he could attribute the feeling to. He didn't love anything else. The world had hurt him, so he hated the world. Baggins had robbed him, so he hated Baggins. Goblins tried to kill him, so he hated the goblins. But the precious…no, he loved the precious. _His precious_. He was incomplete without his love. He needed it back and he would only feel jealousy and hatred until he got it back.

_Their tears are filling up their glasses,_

_No expression, no expression._

_Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow._

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow._

The creature swam in circles. Slow, consistent, and repetitive. The hatred and anger had momentarily faded, the unyielding cascade of tears finally ending as all his feelings were swallowed up by the dark depths of the lake and he was left with nothing. He had nothing left. It was gone. What was the point?

"You get it back, my love. _We_ get it back."

"But we don't wants to leaveses."

The cave was his home. _Their_ home. He couldn't leave it. It was safe, their sanctuary from the rest of the world. "Isn't that what we always said?"

Gollum merely shook his head, scoffing under his breath before breaking into a coughing fit. "Gollum! Gollum! No! We have to get it. We musssssst. What's the point, he asks? The point is we _needssss_ the _preciousssss_. What's life without the _preciousssss_?"

"Nothing."

"Yessssss. _Nothing._ So, Smeagol, my love, we're going to get it. Gets it back!" Gollum's eyes narrowed slightly before adding, "either we go…or we die. Pick one."

Smeagol's blue gaze drifted, reminiscing on all the years he spent in the dank cave, the desolate place he had come to call his home. But it wasn't home…was it? No…_home_ was really…it was where the precious was. There was no home without it. There was no Smeagol without it. They had to get it. At all costs. Smeagol didn't want to lose himself. Not his life to the terrifying orcses and not his existence to the shadows.

"We'll go gets it. We'll gets it back," Smeagol declared, an unexpected solemn edge to his voice. Didn't he want to go?

_Yes_. Yes, Smeagol did. Really…he yearned for an excuse to ditch the mountain, to escape to the outside world. Something Smeagol missed the most, other than the presence of people, was living. The precious had kept him alive, hundreds of years longer than natural, but it didn't make him live. He missed…living.

He needed to rest if he was going to build up his strength for the long journey to the Shire. A month of catching fishes would do the trick for him. And then he would be on his way, traveling effortlessly along the secret passages he had found long ago. He wouldn't have any trouble getting there. With that thought, Smeagol smiled a small smile for the first time since he lost the ring. He was confident. He felt that envied feeling, he, _himself,_ for once. Gollum wasn't the only one who could experience it.

As he closed his piercing blue eyes, Smeagol's mind slipped almost instantly into a dream world, one filled with music and laughter. Light. Happiness.

_Strange. Our dreams were never this pleasant when we had the precious._

Without the venomous ring in his grasp, that tiny voice, the most honest of all, was able to speak a little louder. It told Smeagol that he didn't actually want the object of his desire. He wasn't meant for the world of darkness; the light was calling for him. He just didn't want to be alone. And really…he wanted to lose the ring. His possessiveness had kept him trapped and now, for the first time in centuries, he was free. He could finally be…happy.

However, the creature didn't hear this truth. He was already consumed by the best dreams he ever had and was deaf to anything else. The words didn't register.

And yet…it took him sixty years to make a journey he could have completed in a few months.

_It's a very, very mad world._

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><p><strong>So, let me know what you think! I understand that the switch between the Gollum and Smeagol voices can get confusing, so if you don't understand, feel free to let me know in a pm or review and I'll try my best to fix it. Happy New Year!<strong>


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